


You Can Get Anything You Want at Sephiroth's Restaurant (excepting Cloud)

by twigcollins



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Canon - Original Game, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-08-21
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-12 14:05:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twigcollins/pseuds/twigcollins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>... or "and we was both jumping up and down yelling, 'KILL, KILL.'"</p><p>Sephiroth owns a restaurant.  Everyone works there.  Cloud puts on a skirt and there are cactaurs.  So many cactaurs.</p><p>Mature mostly due to swears. Also horrific cactaur violence.  It's still technically vegan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Where the - fuck - is the cook?"

Sephiroth didn't raise his voice - didn't need to, his tone carrying the gentle query of a thrown concrete slab. It was coincidence that most of the prep areas were facing away from the door, but everyone took advantage of it, even Vincent suddenly interested in sharpening one of his already razor-edged blades on the edge of a claw.

He shut his eyes, pressing the chilled glass momentarily against his forehead, reaching in his pocket and tossing two antacids on the nearest table. He slammed his glass down with enough force to crush both, and with enough skill not to lose a drop of his drink. One brisk, precise sweep threw the powdered mess into the glass and he downed it in a single swallow, expression still cemented comfortably between homicidal and genocidal.

"Your Zack vein is twitching, boss." Reno said, without turning around, lifting a fork out of the soapy water to inspect it, blithely disinterested in how close he was to eating it.

Elena quietly slid the reserve bottle of vodka across the table - judicious use of alcohol not the only reason she was the sous-chef, but the one that usually kept the manager from multiple felonies before the night started. It was New Year's Eve at the ‘Masamune’, one of the more promising high-profile restaurants in the city - and tonight was the night, the party that would prove if that promise had any lasting value.

If the cook showed. 

"Don't we open in twenty minutes?" Barrett Wallace rumbled, carefully flicking a baton coated with molten sugar back and forth over the large dessert centerpiece, too busy with his fragile creation and the calculations of being a pastry chef built like a linebacker in a rather small space to care about his imminent doom. 

Sephiroth answered him by pouring himself two more shots, drinking both in a single elegant move. All his moves were elegant, even when he was holding Reno's head in his own dishwater.

At least most of the prep had been successfully completed, nothing spoiled or the wrong color or 'accidentally' touched by any part of Reno. Vincent had spent the last half hour cutting practice cucumber rolls for the Wutainese busboys while Aeris and Tifa chatted in the front, tidying up what was already spotless. Tseng was printing out the final wine list for the evening, a few rather pricy vintages 'discovered' at the last moment, probably off the backs of various trucks, traded for the favor of his momentary disinterest. Business as usual.

"Fifteen minutes." Cid said, trailing smoke through the rear door. He saw Sephiroth's expression, turned on his heel and went right back out the door, lighting a new cigarette off the end of the old one. Elena grimaced, one hand firmly on her stack of towels as the manager's grip tightened on the neck of the bottle. From outside, Cid let out a shout, unintelligible but one of only a possible few four-letter words.

"Hey, sorry I'm late." Zack rushed in through the back door, not sounding at all sorry, using the momentum of his entrance to badly conceal the man he had tucked under an arm - more of a headlock, really. "Everything set?"

Zack loosed his hostage, shedding his street clothes just as fast, uselessly thumping at a uniform made entirely of wrinkles. Tseng usually posed as the head chef whenever Sephiroth required a the photo op, the sommelier one of the only crew he allowed in the front of the house.

The fresh kill Zack had dragged in stood frozen in the center of the kitchen, blinking and bewildered - they'd been introduced to most of Zack's friends this way, and in a few moments most of the kitchen staff were back to their prep work, only Sephiroth left to study him. Young and scrawny, with wide blue eyes that made him look even younger and blond hair that stuck straight up, an alarming pale shadow of Zack's own. God help the universe if there were two of them.

"What's your name?"

Wide blue eyes nearly looked through him in panic – a blue so bright and clear it could have been bottled and set on Tifa’s back shelf at the bar. The kid's throat worked, but he didn't manage to make a sound, and after a moment Sephiroth thought he'd have to Heimlich him just to get an answer.

"Name's Cloud." Zack said briskly. "Cloud Strife. He's your new waiter."

"Tonight."

"We lost one last week, didn't we? Or he's an extra. We can always use an extra."

"Tonight." Sephiroth repeated, Elena reaching around cautiously to refill his glass.

Zack blew out a breath instead of answering, quickly going over his station, as if Sephiroth was the one inconveniencing him. Cloud hovered behind him in half-steps, like a duckling, trying very hard not to look at anyone, especially not Sephiroth. Zack unrolled his knives across the table in one smooth motion, ignoring Sephiroth entirely as he leaned back to bellow out the front door into the dining room. "Hey Aeris!"

She peeked around the door, letting out a little coo of delight at the sight of Zack's newest acquisition - a pair of magpies, the both of them.

"Find him a spare uniform? You're probably going to have to tuck it in all over."

"You bet."

No one could resist Aeris. She could stop crying children and parking lot brawls with the same polite smile and a gentle request, and it was simplicity itself to sweetly wrap one of Cloud's arms in both of her own, giving him a bright smile full of confidence. He continued to stare blankly, finally managing a weak smile of his own as she pulled him out of the room, and Sephiroth heard Tifa squeal in excitement from the other room - no one in the restaurant was not fully dedicated to making his life a living hell.

"Zack." Everyone gave them a wide berth, the head cook the only one who ever argued with the manager - in this together, nearly from the beginning, although there were plenty of days like this one, where it all seemed inexplicable. "You do realize who's going to be here?"

"The money, yeah Seph, I got that. The culmination of all our hopes and dreams and car payments. Well, your car. And the money I owe you for the new windshield."

"We can't afford mistakes, not tonight, and we already employ Reno. Somehow."

Reno lifted a hand in a lazy salute, drops of soap flicking off his fingertips in directions he hadn't even moved.

"The kid doesn't have anywhere to go." Zack said suddenly, in a low, private tone, keeping his eyes on the knives as he quickly assembled the slapdash insanity that he called a _mise_. "He would work the night for the family meal, and he'd be grateful for it."

"Where did you even find-"

"Please, Seph." Zack lifted his eyes. "As a friend. I don't ask you for a lot of favors."

"Fifteen in the last six days. Not counting sick days and dead grandmothers."

Zack grimaced. "Okay, I ask you for a lot of favors, but I swear this is one of the good ones. Please." 

Sephiroth didn't move, or even blink for a long moment, but finally nodded slightly. "He'd better be quick." 

Without another word, no interest in the curse of gratitude, Sephiroth took three quick strides and disappeared through the front door. Reno wasted no time, dripping water everywhere as he sidled up to the edge of the table. 

"So,” he purred, a tone full of felonies. “ _Another_ rent boy. What's that, three this month?"

Zack made a face. "So did they figure out what STD that was the last time, or did it just get eaten by the other ones?"

Insults rolled off Reno, along with tact, taste and cleanliness, leaving no mark.

"I bet you got him off the corner with that flickery street light."

"Shut up."

"You think he'll steal all your stuff like the last one did?"

Zack smirked. "Everything I have left is here. Especially these very sharp and pointy knives."

Reno was nonplussed. "You have that shot glass collection."

"You broke those and stole the other half."

"Good times."

"Oh my god," Elena blurted, taking a step backward in shock. It took a lot to pull her away from her last-minute preparations, especially on a night as important as this. The new rentboy in a dress, that was a good start. Bracketed by Tifa and Aeris, Cloud still managed to make quite an impressive picture in the full waitress uniform, even if his face looked a bit more like a tomato than before, and one hand furiously tugged on the hem of his unmoving skirt.

"We kind of ran out of regular uniforms." Tifa said, the apologetic smile fooling no one. Aeris was humming happily to herself, fluffing Cloud's hair and straightening the trim of lace around his collar.

"Good legs on him, with no ass and all."

"Shut up, Reno." Zack glared at Aeris and Tifa. "You couldn't man him up a bit?"

"We manned him up."

"Is that rouge?"

"Shut _up_ , Reno." Zack and Aeris both, that time. Cloud did his best to hide behind a menu until Tifa pried it out of his hands.

"Three minutes." Barrett called from behind several layers of cream and angel food cake. Merangue-topped cupcakes sculpted into chocobos were scattered around him in a tiny, decorative flock.

“So...” Zack said, obviously coming to the realization that they’d run out of time to put Cloud in pants, even if said pants could be found. “You ready then?”

“Buh?”

“Just hand out menus, write down orders.” Aeris said soothingly, pressing a pad of paper and a pen into his hand. “Everyone’s going to be bombed soon anyway, and we’ve got a special menu, so it shouldn’t be that hard to keep orders moving.”

“Yeah,” Zack said, quickly heartening. “We won’t need you for the live lobsters for at least another hour.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, and don’t get too close to the coat check girl if you have anything in your pockets.” Tifa said brightly. “Kisaragi’s a total klepto, but Sephiroth got to use the parking lot behind the restaurant - it belongs to her father, and to pay him back, he had to hire her.”

“I can’t imagine what he must spend in bail money.” Aeris chimed in.

“She’d probably rub you all over just for the hell of it.” Zack added.

“Mergh.” Cloud whimpered.

“Good times.” Reno drawled, drying a spoon in the most suggestive way possible.

Sephiroth pushed the doors back open, and slammed his empty glass down on the table at the same moment he caught sight of Cloud. No one moved. Tseng smoothed a crease in the label of a bottle of Chardonnay he planned to sell at a 200 percent increase. 

Slowly, carefully, the manager let his hands fall to his sides, composing himself. Only moments left, for a last few precious words to inspire the troops. Sephiroth cleared his throat, gazing at each of them in turn.

"I want you all to know... I have a gun."

He turned on his heel, and left the way he came. Zack grinned, clapping Cloud on the shoulder.

“All right kid, let’s make the magic happen.”

“Guh?”

\-----------------------------------------------------

“Hey. You. Yeah you, kid. You hungry?”

And that had been it, how he’d met Zack. ‘Like the last kitten in the box,’ the man had said later, not unkindly. Cloud wasn’t sure just what it said about him, that ending up in a waitress uniform wasn’t the worst outcome he could think of.

Of course he’d been scared at the time, not the first that he’d been approached – he’d tried to look like he knew where he was going, that he belonged wherever he was and didn’t care, but it was like he was transparent. Everyone could read him, and so Cloud had mostly learned to run and hide, and study people very carefully. Especially the friendly ones. 

He’d stared at Zack, trying to see the ugly edge of his smile, the danger beneath his easy expression. Knew it didn’t mean anything when he couldn’t find it, and hated that the ultimate decision belonged to his stomach. He hadn’t had anything worth eating in nearly three days, and so he’d nodded, followed after Zack, watching muscles shift in the man’s ridiculously built arms. The only chance he was going to have, if anything went wrong, was keeping just enough distance between them to run. Cloud tried to pretend it was a strategy, even as he followed Zack for blocks, further into the city center than he’d ever gone before on his own.

“Come on, in here.”

Cloud rocked back on his heels, Zack climbing the stairs to an old brownstone – and he nearly bolted then and there. Restaurants were one thing, homes were entirely different. Anything could happen behind a locked door – but Zack didn’t get angry, didn’t even seem surprised, watching him from the top of the stairs, his expression carefully muted, as if perfectly willing to let Cloud run for it. A woman appeared in the doorway behind him, a child in one arm and a golden retriever bounding down the stairs around him, tail wagging as it sniffed and slobbered thoroughly over Cloud before ambling away.

Zack was still waiting, and it was really, really hard to imagine an ax-maniac living in the same building as a smiling family and a happy dog, and Cloud hoped more than completely trusted that his growling stomach wasn’t going to get him killed, and climbed the stairs.

The man was – miraculously - a cook. Nowhere near good enough to be a real chef, Zack had said, but he’d moved through the kitchen with a practiced ease, pulling out leftovers that looked posh enough to Cloud, a set of knives gleaming against the wall, pots and pans with brand names he didn’t recognize. It took time, heating up the oven, but Zack didn’t ask him any questions, just poured him a lemonade – “no beer, kid, at least not until we get a meal into you” – and left Cloud kicking his legs at the barstool counter, as he shuffled through papers, far too large for the insanely cluttered space. 

It wasn’t long before the smell of pasta filled the room, Zack pulling out the better half of a pan of extremely serious lasagna. Cloud’s mouth was watering before the man could cut into it, gooey cheese strands sticking to everything as he loaded up a plate, passing it over. Cloud nearly burnt his mouth on the first bite, sucking in air and wincing with the second forkful already halfway to his mouth.

“Take it easy, Spike. It’s not gonna run away. Only the leftovers at the bottom of the fridge do that.”

It was delicious, and he hoped Zack didn’t care that he wasn’t making much conversation, wasn’t doing anything but wolfing it down, and when the plate was empty Zack refilled it and Cloud kept eating, realized after a while that he’d eaten over half the pan before the man was even through his first square, though he seemed more interested in watching Cloud than in his own food.

“So, that’s a ‘yes’ for Italian food.”

Cloud winced a little, hadn’t meant to be so disrespectful, treating a gourmet meal like he was eating it from a trough. It /was/ delicious, but his brain refused to give him any more words to describe the flavors, the perfectly melty cheese, crisp and brown in places, the mix of tomato sauce and spices and meat that wasn’t a dollar hamburger. Instead of any worthwhile critique, he let out a little sound, half-sigh and half moan, blushing when Zack laughed.

By the time he’d finished, every inch of him was warm and heavy and he felt like he’d gained twenty pounds. Cloud blinked, dragging himself off the stool – his feet ached a little, resting so long after all the walking he’d done, and he just stood there, unsure of what was coming next. He wasn’t afraid or worried, that had all disappeared somewhere around his third helping, but he was still wondering what he’d have to pay out for such a generous gift. It wouldn’t be that bad, probably. Zack hadn’t done anything scary so far, and Cloud – well, he could deal. Whatever happened, it was worth the meal.

“I’m going to wash up. You can sit on the couch if you want.”

Cloud nodded slowly, feeling more than a little dopey, staggering over into the small living room. Zack’s couch was broken-in enough to be mostly broken, but still plush, more than comfortable enough compared to concrete. Cloud yawned, leaning against the arm, tucking a few mismatched pillows under his shoulder, and listened to the sound of Zack cleaning up the dishes. He probably should have offered to help.

When he opened his eyes again, the room was dark around him, moonlight coming through the sliding-glass door on the other side of the room. Cloud blinked, utterly disorientated for a moment, hands tracing the edge of a tan blanket with worn edges that had been draped over him. He was laying down, stretched out, the lumpy couch surprisingly comfortable. The room still smelled like warm tomatoes, and he could hear Zack snoring down the other end of the short hall. The man hadn’t done anything to him but remove his socks, and Cloud flexed his bare toes against the soft blanket in wonder.

Only for a moment, did he think about leaving, but he was still weighed down by ten pounds of lasagna, warm and comfortable, and it wasn’t right to do that to Zack. Cloud owed him more, if anything, now. Maybe there would be a way to pay him back. Maybe, just maybe he would have some advice, somewhere for Cloud to go, something he could do. Cloud let his eyes shut again, a full stomach enough insurance against most of his worries, for now.

_Maybe... he has some more leftovers._

\-------------------------------------------------------------

“Top me off, buttercup?”

Cloud managed a polite smile, swapping the man’s empty glass for a full one, trying not to panic when he noticed a ten dollar bill folded into the long-stemmed flute, but the man only leered at him a little, before turning back to his table. Showing off for his friends, but even considering the outfit he was in and the rather uncomfortable draft that came with it, Cloud had to admit it wasn’t all that bad – almost like he was in disguise, the low lights helping the ruse. A few people had given him _those_ looks, but it wasn’t like they could do anything, and they were all drunk anyway and it was okay.

It was alternating duty, running between the bar and the back as Tifa slung drinks and made small-talk with the cluster of people who preferred to be close to the alcohol, hauling trays of appetizers when he wasn’t handling individual orders and his shoulder was aching like mad, knees and feet protesting but he could handle it. Especially with the occasional glimpse of the tall, pale-haired man here and there in the crowd, and he knew Sephiroth wasn’t watching him, had far too much on his mind to bother with paying attention to the waitstaff, but Cloud tried to straighten up and compose himself whenever the man was around, anyway.

“Hey there, sweetheart!”

Cloud let out a slight, panicked sound, as a hand came out around his waist, dragging him backward. He had to fight not to lose control of his full tray of drinks, which gave the man a few more moments to paw at him before Cloud could extricate himself, only to earn a solid pinch on the ass the second he turned around. The two men had anchored themselves at the corner of the bar, close enough to grab for him what seemed like every time he’d passed by. Like the two monsters in that old fable, grabbing at traveling ships, and Cloud had deigned them Fat and Hairy and done his best to stay out of their way.

“Ugh,” Fat said, one hand absently picking through the bowl of wasabi mix on the table as if he were fortune telling, making a face at Cloud’s tray. “I don’t want any of that. Bring us something better.” 

“I, uh...” 

“Tell that bartender to stop ignoring us, too.” Hairy had a bristle beard, and was built like – like a brick shithouse, the phrase floating up from some distant memory, and Cloud made a little noise that must have sounded like an affirmative, as he was suddenly freed. Very nearly losing the rest of the drinks on the tray as he stumbled, some miracle keeping him on his feet and all the liquid in its place. He finished handing out the rest of the drinks and was on his way back to the bar, leaning up against it just for a moment, when a shrill whistle caught his attention, Fat gesturing to him with one meaty palm. Cloud shuddered.

“Oh, those two. Yeah, they threw cheddar fish into my cleavage once. I kind of want them to die.” Tifa grumbled, leaning over the bar. “I hope to god Yuffie’s going through their pockets again.” She reached for a bottle behind her, and poured two more drinks, twisting something small and green into them both. “You let them try those out, maybe that’ll shut them up.”

Cloud nodded, still too nervous to do much else besides what he was told, and he scooped the drinks up, moving around through the crowd, performing a strange, calisthenic shuffle to get both drinks down without letting anyone drag him onto their knee. The minor victory didn’t last, as both men took long drags of their new refreshments, only to start spluttering, Fat going brilliant red while Hairy began to sweat great rivulets into his beard. Cloud whirled, wondering just how Tifa had poisoned them and whether or not he’d be blamed. The bartender grinned, held up what looked like regular vodka, but there was a slight addition to the label. Pepper. Pepper vodka. He could guess what the small, green thing had been.

A meaty hand grabbed hold of the front of his uniform, spinning him around and lifting him right off his feet. Cloud had been here before, though not quite like this. Never in such a classy or crowded place, but that didn’t matter, and it didn’t matter who was around because nobody was going to help him. He winced, and shut his eyes. As long as the man let him go afterward, it would only take one punch.

“Problem, Heidigger?”

The voice was a smooth, velvet purr that instantly made Cloud lock up, frozen – he had known people who sounded like that, and it was never, ever good.

“Sir. No, not at all.”

Both men were practically at attention, and Cloud was instantly lowered to the ground.

“Maybe Palmer can help you out of here. I think you’ve both had enough for tonight.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Cloud turned slowly, carefully, as the two men slunk out. His savior wasn’t particularly tall, not physically imposing. It was all in his eyes, an intimacy in the steady way he regarded Cloud. Amused, utterly at ease, all of life nothing but a steady state of things to bat back and forth as he saw fit. He was very handsome and very, very rich, every fold pressed and creased, every detail attended to. The blonde woman on his arm glittered and flashed in a red, spangly dress that all but gave a play-by-play of her intended evening, and her eyes reminded Cloud of some barely tamed animal. The man leaned forward, ever so slightly.

“So where are you on the menu?”

He didn’t raise his voice, even though the room was loud. The woman laughed a little, as if she didn’t know - no, as if she knew exactly what the man was thinking, and didn’t care. Cloud felt the warmth of a hand on his arm, still couldn’t make himself speak.

“Excuse me, Cloud.” The colder voice snapped him out of the moment, Sephiroth glaring at him, arms crossed. Cloud had to fight not to shrink back. “You’re needed in the kitchen, if you’re done here.”

“Yessir.” He hissed, and nearly ran to the safety of the back room, unaware of the gazes that followed until he disappeared behind the double doors.

“He’s got very blue eyes, don’t you think?” Rufus said, flicking a strand of hair back away from his eyes, still watching the doors.

“I didn’t notice.”

An eyebrow raised, a moment of actual surprise that made the smile that much brighter. “How unlike you.”

Sephiroth ignored him, opened the leather folio in his other hand instead. “I’ve got our budgetary plans, some of our reviews, and some of the improvements we’d like to -”

“You never stop working, do you? I’m here for the food. If it’s as impressive as I’ve been lead to believe, you’ll get my support.” Rufus held a chair out for Scarlett, but his eyes never quite left the doors, still watching. “Come on Sephiroth, amaze me. It’s not that hard.”

———————————————————————————————-

Cloud skittered through the doors back to the kitchen, his heart beating fast, ready to go through his chest and flop around on the floor like a fresh fish. Getting noticed was never a good thing, and Cloud had never been noticed by someone like that before, let alone by Sephiroth, that icy disdain practically a rime of frost against his skin. God, he’d never met someone that handsome _or_ that scary before, a flawless, statuesque figure who might just decide to rip his arms off. Cloud knew was probably going to get fired, and that probably meant Zack would have to kick him out. So now he just had to make sure not to screw up again, and get Zack in trouble for ever inviting him in the first place.

“You ran into the boss, didn’t you?”

Cloud nearly jumped as Reno just appeared next to him, slouching in from some hidden door and reeking of cigarettes.

“Scary fuck, ain’t he? Well, he ain’t really that - nah, I’m lying, he’ll kill you. Chop you up and use you to stuff the poached quail.” Reno grinned, halfheartedly scratching his balls. “Well, unless he decides to stuff-”

“Reno! I’m fucking out of fucking puree!” Zack bellowed from the other side of the room, holding up a green-tinged plastic pail. At the same moment, Vincent appeared, tapping another small container ominously with - holy shit, it really was a _claw_. Cloud had kind of been wondering about that - didn’t most people just use a hook or something?

“Fuck _that_ , make the new guy get it!”

Reno somehow managed to duck getting hit by the bin even though it seemed impossible he could move any faster than an ooze. The sous-chef, Elena, was glaring too.

“We’re not feeding the new guy to those things, now get the fuck down there!”

“Come on,” Reno said, a hot hand grabbing him by the slightly frilly collar, ignoring the order so completely it was almost like obedience. Cloud was wearing a borrowed pair of the bartender’s shoes, clogs with thick heels that seemed disinterested in murdering him, but he tried to slide his feet along the floor anyway, to keep from clunking as he walked.

“S’ down here.” 

Navigating the stairs was a little more difficult, but at least Reno was leading the way, and Cloud could keep a tight hand on the banister.

“Reno, don’t you dare send him down there!” Zack’s bellow was muffled and distant, but Reno raised a hand anyway, in a wanking gesture.

“Yeah, yeah. Ok, here, you’re going to need this.” Cloud barely reached the bottom of the stairs before he found himself staggering under the weight of - what - okay, yes, it was a car door. In a really unflattering shade of banana yellow. Cloud knew what his expression was, questioning with a bit of concern, but Reno seemed to think it was all rather obvious, throwing a heavy burlap sack over Cloud’s other shoulder. Most of the lighting was either dim or uncertain and if he hadn’t been in a skirt already Cloud would have thought that _this_ was the weirdest moment of the night. 

“You’re gonna want these too.” A pair of long, industrial-strength kitchen tongs was pushed into the crook of his arm, Cloud still struggling under the weight of the door. 

“We never did figure out a good system. Just do whatever you can to minimize the blood loss.”

“I…”

“Back wall. In the corner.” Reno said, answering the question Cloud actually cared the least about. “I’d hurry. Vincent gets all bitchy when he has to wait for shit.” Reno twirled a cigarette around his fingers, as if it was a thoughtful gesture, as if he had something else to say. “Yeah.” He clunked back up the stairs without another word.

It wasn’t all that much scarier without him - Cloud realized - readjusting his grip on the car door and the bag and the tongs for another moment before he sighed, setting the door down. Just until he figured out what it was he was supposed to do. Most of the noise from upstairs was muffled to silence, and the lights flickered like a snuff film, his shoes clicking ominously against the floor. Maybe this had been the fate of the last server who underperformed, and he really would end up as tomorrow’s special bisque. 

Cloud paused for a moment at a strange sound, like ice cracking, but the room was rather warm and he couldn’t imagine he’d been sent down here for ice. It was probably one of those stupid hazing things. That made him nervous. He didn’t mind being made fun of, but it was important to do it right, to be a good sport, and he really didn’t want to piss off Sephiroth again. Gingerly, Cloud turned the corner, peering around a box of unopened towels to the back of the room. The cracking sound stopped.

The large, glass bin was propped up on a makeshift table, sort of maybe looked like an aquarium tank. If the fish didn’t need water. And were green, with faces. Horrified little faces.

Tiny cactus people with horrified little faces.

A thick bed of quills carpeted the floor of the tank, and Cloud thought maybe he finally understood what the car door was for.

“Hey new guy, are you dead yet?!”

The shout nearly stopped his heart, and one quill pinged - pota! - off the glass, and Cloud was fairly sure the dozen tiny little faces were like small, green mirrors, his own expression with maybe a tad more disbelief. The car door was probably a really good idea, but there was no way he could carry it _and_ defend himself _and_ get one of these things in the bag. 

And Zack had wanted him to hurry.

Cloud gritted his teeth, his hand clutching the tongs so hard it hurt, and held his breath as he took the last few steps to the side of the tank. The tiny creatures never changed their horrified expression, craning back to watch him in unison as he quietly said a prayer, and slid a corner of the tank cover back.

——————————————————————-

“Go down there and fucking get him!” Zack couldn’t actually stop working, plating six orders at a time, and couldn’t afford to lose the knife he would have otherwise thrown, so Reno felt fairly secure standing where he was while the head chef tried to kill him with his eyes.

“It ain’t like he’s screaming yet. You gotta be tough on them, or else they’ll turn out like… you know, me.”

“We were tough on you,” Elena said, “You got locked in the freezer overnight.”

“You told me that was an accident.” Reno said, but she’d returned to the grill station, and didn’t look up.

“If you don’t go down there’s he’s going to turn out full of holes and - shut the fuck up, Reno, stop laughing and go-”

“Um. Excuse me?” 

As busy as it was, the sight of the new waitress with a slightly struggling sack in his hands and no visible bloodstains was enough to bring most of the kitchen to a halt for a moment. Near the back of the room, Barret sighed, handing over a small wager to one of the busboys. Zack looked from bag to boy for a moment, and grinned.

“How the fuck-” Reno said loudly, and Cloud jumped back, still keeping a firm hold on the bag as a thousand needles suddenly exploded outward, barely caught by the fabric’s thick weave.

“Elena, take over.” Zack said, striding across the room to take the bag out of Cloud’s hand, turning, shoving Reno out of the way and bashing it violently against the nearest counter a couple of times. He tipped his head slightly as if waiting - pota! - before reaching for a mallet and furiously hammering at the bag, giving Cloud another delighted grin.

“I totally -BAM - knew you were useful - BAM! We used to keep them - BAM BAM BAM! - in the freezer - pota! - because - BAM BAM BAM BAM! - the cold slowed them down but - 

At this, Zack paused again, and gave the bag a little shake. Cloud wondered if there were some sort of therapy plan he could get into, if he did somehow manage to hang onto this job.

“Like I said, the cold slowed them down, but one time they got out and - pota! - FUCK!” Just as Zack opened the top of the bag, a needle fired off, and he went back to furiously beating the crap out of it with the mallet. Cloud took a step back, and a warm, thin-fingered hand closed around his, Aeris smiling gently as she pulled him away from the ensuing carnage, Vincent approaching the bag with a rather wicked looking knife.

“The last time, we had to let Yuffie go at it with an M-80. I don’t think anyone will mind if you take your break now.”


	2. Chapter 2

In retrospect, Sephiroth’s life had been responsible and successful and quietly batshit insane, and it was amazing he’d survived. In his defense, it had all seemed perfectly reasonable at the time. 

With the benefit of a little perspective, it was easy to see that he hadn’t actually been living, just existing in some two-dimensional magazine ad for an actual life. On most days, he felt like a diagram, all outlines, a sliver of existence, barely visible, preserved on a slide - clean and beautiful and devoid of meaning. You could hold him up to the light and see how little was actually there. It had never occurred to Sephiroth that everyone else might not feel they were acting in an exceptionally tedious instructional video on how to live an exceptionally tedious life.

He’d been blessed, his adoptive father said, with a keen mind, a near-photographic memory and an exquisite attention to detail - the reason he’d been adopted, after all. (The man, Professor Hojo, was rather a sort of quiet monster, effortlessly cruel to enemies and allies alike. Even without perspective, Sephiroth always had some sense of that.) He had no bedside manner to speak of, but many of his patients seemed oddly comforted by that, as if friendliness and medical skill somehow hung as distinct counterweights. 

The Professor certainly had little interest in emotions, or anything else he couldn’t measure, dissect or throw into a centrifuge, and he’d raised Sephiroth to the same - precise, exacting and calm. Sterile. Of course, at the time he hadn’t thought of it that way. He hadn’t considered that anything might be lacking, even on those nights when he’d peeled himself off the graveyard shift of his newly acquired, highly desirable residency to go for walks down by the river, and consider the benefits of simply walking into the icebox depths and being done with it. A bit of broken concrete in his pockets and the right current and who knew where his body might wash up by morning, and it wouldn’t mean anything more or less than any of the countless days before it had.

Looking back, he could see such thoughts for what they were, the last few beats from a struggling heart just before the flatline. At the time it had only been the thought that accompanied him on his nightly walks, needing the cold and the air to wake him up enough for the long drive home in the dim, gray time before morning.

“Fuck! Stop! Catch it, catch it!”

If it hadn’t been the end of his shift, if he hadn’t given most of his thoughts to the mirror-smooth emptiness of the river, Sephiroth might have done any number of things than what he had. At least, he would have been a bit more surprised at the sight of a large man running straight at him from the other side of the street, chasing something small and quick that darted directly toward him. 

Instead, half-asleep save for a cup of coffee from hours before, Sephiroth did the only thing he could think of as the small shape darted in front of him, and brought his boot down on it hard and fast, with a rather satisfying wet crunch.

“Fuck! Oh man. Did you just…”

The man in pursuit slowed to a walk, a disappointed incredulity on his face that seemed to stretch up into his wildly spiked hair as he stepped out of the shadows. He was big, with considerable muscles and rather broad shoulders. Sephiroth was quietly confident about his ability to hold his own in a fight, but this could still get interesting.

“You stepped on it! What if that had been a kitten?”

Sephiroth lifted his boot away, though it wasn’t a kitten, or anything like a kitten, or anything _recognizable_ , even when he tried to subtract the tread of his boot from the picture. It seemed like nothing so much as a pile of produce, green and oddly shaped, with little stubby limbs that still twitched a bit. He might have run across its cousin in an unfortunate hospital cafeteria somewhere.

“Oh, this is going to have to go in the gumbo now.” The big man said ruefully, reaching down for what looked more and more like some sort of rare and sketchy vegetable, cradling it with a strange sort of tenderness before looking up at Sephiroth. It seemed he might still be dangerous, but now for entirely different reasons.

“Well, thanks for stopping it, anyway. Expensive little bastards. I have to get them through mail order and one of them always gets all prison break when I open up the carton.”

It had been a long night on shift, too much quiet interspersed with stretches of frantic activity in a way that left him not quite able to figure out if the man’s words made any sense, and Sephiroth was too tired to bother trying.

“You’re… welcome?”

It seemed that the man wanted to say more, just as Sephiroth knew he did not want to hear it - what a bizarre, solitary creature he’d been in those days, not recognizing what would save his life or even knowing how to welcome it when it found him. Once again, though, fate intervened, as the tiny green vegetable suddenly sat up. Sephiroth thought the look of permanent perpetual horror etched on its face had probably evolved for good reason.

“Hey, little buddy! You’re aliv - ow fuck ow shit fuck ow!”

The creature exploded. Sephiroth stepped back, hearing a few projectiles patter harmlessly against his scrubs, his reflexes clearing him out of the blast radius. Zack was not nearly so lucky, alternately swearing and flailing as he stumbled back, and - in a moment of panicked inspiration - threw the bundle of spiky cucumber death into a mailbox and slammed the door shut. He stood there for a moment, breathing hard, quills sticking out of him everywhere, like a dog that was probably not going to bother learning its lesson.

“So it’s some sort of… deranged… cactus… person?” Sephiroth hazarded a guess. He could hear muffled thumps from inside the mailbox.

“Cactaur. Fourteen dollars an _ounce_ up here. We used to catch them for free back home. I use them in the tomatillo salsa.” Zack glanced back. “Postman’s gonna get a surprise. Shit, you think I should throw a stamp in there?”

He hissed another few curses, sloppily picking quills out of one hand with the other, and Sephiroth moved forward before he could remind himself he had no reason to care.

“You’ll do more damage trying to pick them out yourself. Here. Let me.”

“Ow. Thanks, doc.” In its way, the man’s smile was as unexpected as the cactaur’s attack, and Sephiroth had to fight the urge to step away from it just as quickly, to protect himself. The man shivered - he was wearing only a t-shirt and jeans under what Sephiroth finally realized was a well-worn chef’s apron.

“Cold out here. We should finish this up back at my place. I’ve got some stuff that needs prep for the morning, gotta get back before it burns. Name’s Zack, by the way.”


End file.
